


Clean Slate

by Tinq



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, One Shot, Talking, This came out of nowhere, chase - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-21
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2019-01-01 04:25:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12148587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tinq/pseuds/Tinq
Summary: Sherlock and John have a short heart to heart after an unexpected chase leaves Sherlock feeling... sentimental.





	Clean Slate

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written fanfiction in MONTHS and then I go and see ONE quote and I just have to write about it. The credit wasn't included in the picture I found but it's the last line of dialogue in the story. :) Kudos, comments, anything is appreciated!  
> Thanks for reading!

     The London sky turned from a pale, yellowish grey to a bluer, darker one. The clouds tossed about like the sea, upturned coats filling city blocks and umbrellas popping up here and there as the rain began to fall, pittering and pattering along the pavement. These reactions were automatic, a drop of rain equating to no hurry or alarm, merely another symptom of living in the slated grey cities with thousands of other people who were on the exact same page.

     Across town, though, a different page was turning, a little too far from the familiarity of 221B Baker Street to be truly comfortable. At first there was nothing but silence in the alley. Rain began to fall, splattering drops upon the lids of garbage cans and painting torn away flyers like watercolor. At first, that was all.

     And then in a flash, like lightning, two pairs of footsteps running at the exact same pace. First glances would cause confusion, a second glance - if possible - excitement. But this alley was as abandoned as could be and it lead to the disappointing face of a brick wall.

     "Dead end," The shorter of the two breathed out. How he had managed to keep up with his much taller, more slender friend could only be called experience or, perhaps if one knew well enough, adrenaline. "We could-"

      _"Shh."_ The taller man quickly pinned the second to the darkened brick wall, eyes scanning so quickly, drinking in his surroundings so deeply one might think him a camera, a computer. "Don't speak."

     The second man seemed somewhat accustomed to being pinned up against walls, and though he furrowed his tawny eyebrows in frustration, there was no true discomfort there. If anything, despite his racing heart and flickering gaze, he could quite appreciate the warmth.

     The taller of the two looked back at the alley from which they had entered. His ears were straining against the increased chatter of the rain falling about him and he breathed out slowly, desperate for just a flicker of noise in the white silence.

     "I don't think they've come this far," The shorter one breathed out in a whisper. The rain was picking up now, enough to mask most of the mans words to the average ear. But Sherlock Holmes was no average man.

     "We can't be sure," He replied quickly, turning back to the shorter man, eyes collecting data quickly. "Are you alright, John?"

     John blinked. Surely at some point he had to become accustomed to this whole new level of care that had risen sometime in Sherlock, sometime after multiple faked deaths and all too many gunshot wounds. But it was still as foreign to him as a bright sunny day. "What? Yes, of course." He swallowed quickly, trying not to seem too puzzled for the sake of time - too many eye rolls could cause quite a road block for the constantly bickering duo. "Are - you, alright? As well?"

    Sherlock did not seem too concerned about the words, having turned back to the alleyway with a grimace. "I quite am," He replied, turning back to John. There was something like a tinge of apology painted in his clear gaze. "But this is also quite my fault, John. These are not people I associate with, I was simply not expecting most of them to still be alive at this point."

     "Well," John cleared his throat roughly, his breath slowly coming back to him, adrenaline high from the chase subsiding quickly. He was starting to notice how close he and Sherlock were standing... and also that Sherlock was staring at him - once again, quite - expectantly. "Right. Well - can't count on everything, right? We're both fine. And you know I could use a good run once in a while."

     "If I had not been as quick to react - as times have dearly changed, John, you know I am not quite as mirthless as I would have preferred the paparazzi to describe me as - then we would likely be in-"

     "It'd be a bit not good," John finished for him, trying to bring the clearly over-calculating Sherlock back to the present. By that time John's head was completely wet with rain, and he could feel his jumper beginning to soak down to the skin. Sherlock seemed quite a bit less intimidating at that moment. He was still just slightly disheveled from the running and his hair was beginning to grow limp from the weight of the rain. The alley was growing dark alongside the sky, vision becoming far more rain than light.

     Sherlock leaned back slightly, looking down at the alley floor for a moment. He bent down swiftly, picking up his now tattered blue scarf from where it had fallen.

     "Shame," John commented, eyes expectant of a frustrated outburst from his consulting detective. But Sherlock's mind seemed to be elsewhere, and he glanced back at the alleyway with a sigh.

     "I do mean it John," Though his tone always seemed to ooze with contempt, eyes spilling with boredom - even in the growing darkness John could see trouble brewing in Sherlock's furrowed eyebrows. "I am sorry. You know my history. It has never exactly been pretty, glamorous only in the specs of it spent in Mycroft's office - but that is besides the point." He stiffed slightly, straightening his back. Sherlock's eyes wandered awkwardly away from John's eyes, and he bent to look at his shoes with an awkward grunt. "I have seen you injured before. Half the time - well, I suppose our cases never leave us unharmed. I am not too keen to lose you, John Watson-"

     "You don't have to apologize, Sherlock, you're not a bad man." John hesitated before speaking, trying to find words that were not too sentimental to scare Sherlock back into silence. "Really. I'm fine. I could go for some sleep, though, we'd been running for quite some time." He paused again, clearing his throat. "Nobody is holding you to trial - your hands are clean, despite what you may have done before."

     Sherlock looked back up at John - they were partially vacant, and he did not seem to register the mans words fully, but there was something about John that kept his mind firmly in place. He shook his head. "Kind, but untrue - and my hands are not clean, maybe they will never be. But they can still carry you home when you're ready to sleep."

     John blinked.

     The ends up Sherlock's lips turned up into something like a smile.

     


End file.
